


Steve's Best Holiday Party Ever

by delighted



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Christmas Party, Flirting, Fluff and Smut, Holidays, M/M, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 02:30:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17092352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delighted/pseuds/delighted
Summary: Danny looks up at him, and when their eyes meet it’s like slow goddamn motion or something. The air grows thick and heavy and sounds are muted, and the smile that widens on Danny’s face makes Steve’s toes curl. When he gets to Danny’s side, his arm goes around Danny’s shoulders, and Danny’s arm comes around his waist, settles with his hand tucked in his back pocket, bumping their hips together, and Steve somehow can tell. They both know it. It’s all different this time.





	Steve's Best Holiday Party Ever

**Author's Note:**

> This was another one that started off as a [BYS](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5374970/chapters/12413861) and became too much, and then just kept going. I’m thrilled to have gotten it done in time for the holidays.... I hope you all have a lovely relaxing time filled with warmth and cozy snuggles and fun drinks and yummy food. <3  

Danny thinks he’s being silly, Steve knows this. But he’s got like five years of experience and truth behind him. And dangit, he wants to have a pleasant holiday gathering this year. One that won’t, you know, be interrupted by death and destruction. Because, okay, it’s nice to gather with the team for Christmas, and if it happens at midnight on Christmas eve, or late on Christmas day itself, it doesn’t really matter—it’s not about that. It’s more that it’d be nice if they didn’t have to wash blood off themselves first, or still have the smell of smoke in their noses, or be so goddamned exhausted they can barely lift their nog to toast.

Steve doesn’t mind those mellow, grateful holiday gatherings. Doesn’t object to the tinges of sadness that often paint them. It makes it real, and it makes you appreciate it all the more, which is fine. Good, even. It’s just.... He just wants, for once, to have it go the way he’s been imagining it for the past five or so years. And, okay, maybe he’s got something particular in mind when he thinks that. But really, that’s neither here nor there. It’s the general concept that counts. 

At least that’s what he tells himself.

The point is they’re celebrating Christmas early this year because he’s become convinced that it’s the only way they’ll get to really do it right. And Steve very much wants to do it right.

He’s got to hand it to Danny, though. Because at first he did tease Steve, insist he was being silly, that it was just going to mean more work because he’d end up wanting to do something on Christmas anyway.... But after Danny got it all out once, he shut up about it. And, just to point out here, because it’s worth pointing out.  _That_  is very unlike Danny. And doesn’t Steve know it. Because typically, when confronted with something he feels is silly or pointless or a waste of time, Danny will painstakingly point out all of the ways in which he is right. And once you’ve agreed with him? He’ll start the whole thing over. It’s one of the things Steve finds so hopelessly endearing about his partner. So, he’d been gearing up for round two. But Danny’d just stopped. And he started, quite simply, helping Steve out. With whatever he wanted.

Completely honestly, it’s been a little  _unnerving_.

Which is how they wound up here, the day of the party, getting the house ready, getting the food ready... Danny in the kitchen making honest to goodness holiday rum punch. Complete with Steve’s grandma’s huge pressed-glass punch bowl, pressed-glass punch mugs, and the pièce de résistance according to Danny,  _a fruited ice ring_.

Steve’s still a little stunned they decided punch was the way to go. It first came up one evening after a rough case when he’d had a bit too much to drink and Danny’d got him to admit some of  _why_  he wanted to do the holiday party early this year. He must have been thinking in that moment that he wished Danny was less damn sober and more sappy and sweet, because Steve was really wanting cuddles.  (From Danny, if that wasn’t obvious.) At any rate, he’d said something about wanting people to relax and have a good time, and Danny’d made a comment about how his grandma’s Christmas parties were always very... jolly. Steve’s pretty sure he meant  _drunken_.

At any rate, here they now sit, punch in the bowl, mugs at the ready, trays of cold appetizers in the living room, hot apps in the oven, and cookies of fourteen or so different types in the dining room. Many of those are courtesy of Grace and Charlie, who—even though they couldn’t come because of a school party—wanted to help out, and were thrilled when Steve promised to take them to the Hilton for a day at the pools and waterslides in exchange. He knows Danny thinks he spoils them, but he figures he’s entitled. There has to be some advantage to being the crazy uncle, after all.

The point is, there’s booze, there’s food, there’s sugar aplenty. There’s music, there’s mood lighting, there’s Eddie wearing his Christmas collar, which is red and white and fuzzy and has no fewer than ten jingle bells—when he shakes it’s like Santa’s reindeer are crashing into the room. It was a gift from Tani. Obviously.

And then there’s Danny. Who is mellow and sweet and touchy-feely, and he’s clearly been tasting the punch—to make sure he gets it right, no doubt. There’s his grandma’s reputation to live up to after all. He’s wearing jeans and he’s barefoot (don’t get Steve started on that, unless you want to hear in great detail Steve’s theory on what it means when Danny doesn’t wear shoes, including a subsection on the meaning of flip flops). But instead of his usual crisp white or pale blue dress shirt with the collar delightfully upright and far too open, he’s wearing something Steve never in a million years would have pictured Danny wearing. A red plaid flannel shirt. And he’s not wearing it like a normal person would, open like a jacket over a tee shirt. No. Not Danny. He’s wearing it just like he would one of his regular shirts. Tucked in, no tee underneath, neck open too far. The bright red is nearly blinding to Steve, who is used to soft tones on Danny. But it’s like catnip for some goddamn reason. He can barely stand it, wants to rip it off him, wants to bite at his neck, wants to pet it, wants to just fucking  _look_. 

And Steve’s pretty sure Danny can tell. He almost goes so far as to imagine Danny’s done it on purpose. As if he had some sort of magic mirror into which he could look to ascertain  _what could I wear that would be guaranteed to make my best friend want to jump me_. God, Steve wishes that were the case. He hopes.... Shit, he just hopes he can make it through the night without embarrassing himself.

All of which is to say, Danny’s  _in the mood_. (The  _holiday_  mood, watch yourself there, the slide into the gutter’s a slippery slope.) And Steve is very afraid he’s not going to make it through the night without letting on just how that makes him feel.

It’s nearly time for the guests to start arriving, and Steve’s getting fidgety. He’s chosen his outfit carefully. And, okay, maybe he wished  _he_  had a magic mirror of his own, but he’d tried, at least, to please Danny with his choices. His slacks are a pale, icy blue, and they’re crisp and creased—Danny style. They fit his ass, Tani had assured him, perfectly. (Yes, he went clothes shopping with Tani, go on tease him about that if you dare—he’ll probably punch you.) His shirt is a thin and subtle stripe, red and just a hint of green on creamy white. The collar is starched to within an inch of its life, and he’s somehow managed to get it to do that defying gravity thing like Danny’s does when they get dressed up and go out. He topped it off (or rather, bottomed it out?) with a pair of leather flip flops. The really nice locally made ones that he considers dress shoes when Danny doesn’t make him wear shoes with socks.

He looks nice. Even Danny said so. (Well, he said “Holy shit babe, you look good enough to eat.” But Steve’s not totally sure he didn’t just make that up, wishful thinking and all.) He  _feels_  like a bundle of nerves, sharp and fragile, like he might snap or shatter at the drop of a pin.

Danny, of course, has noticed.

“Babe. You have got to chill the heck out.” He makes him take a shot of rum (and maybe  _that_  explains Danny’s relaxed state), then looks him up and down assessingly. “Come here.” Danny pulls him over to the stairs, sits on the second step, and that positioning doesn’t do anything at all to help matters. “Let’s get you barefoot, that’ll help you relax.” He lifts Steve’s legs one at a time, takes his flip flops off, shoves them under the stairs. He grins up at Steve, looking satisfied, and that image, fuck, that image of Danny in front of him grinning like that.  _Not helping_. He frowns at Steve’s waist, and that doesn’t really help either. “And here, what if we do the French tuck?” He wraps his hands around Steve’s waist, pulls the shirt out from its tucked in position, smooths it out, fixes the tuck in the front, and sits back, admiring his handiwork. “That’s much better. But you still look too uptight, babe.” Danny stands, with a thoughtful expression, stays on the step, reaches out and pulls Steve towards him. “Yeah, I think I know what you need....” 

It’s fucking mesmerizing, being the same height like this. Steve is afraid he’ll fall into those limpid blue eyes and never escape. And then. Fuck,  _then._ Danny kisses him. Not just a sweet little peck, either. A full on, heated, downright passionate kiss. Hot and wet and almost dirty. It leaves Steve gasping when Danny pulls back, satisfied grin on his face. 

“That’s better.” And he steps around Steve, off the stairs, and to the kitchen, presumably to check on the food.

Leaving Steve, mouth open, pants tight, heart stopped. But, okay. His tension from before is very much cut. Like a puppet’s strings, cut. He feels weak in the knees. Swoon-y. Light headed. Almost giddy. Kind of like being suddenly drunk. Danny’d left the rum and shot glass on the side table under the stairs, and Steve grabs for it now, taking another shot, thinking maybe it’ll clear some of the shock, which it does. Unfortunately it leaves in its place an almost reckless sense of anything goes, which Steve thinks to himself could be very, very dangerous indeed.

And of course, that’s when the doorbell rings and everyone arrives at once. The swirl of food and gifts and festive wear and cheerful voices turns like a top around Steve’s already off-kilter world, and it sweeps him away on a tide of holiday spirit... and he lets himself get lost in it.

After everyone’s settled in a bit, Steve catches Tani angling to get him alone. She grabs him by the elbow and pulls him to the side, gaze fierce and questioning. “I like the edits to your outfit, come up with that on your own didja?” From the twinkle in her eye, Steve knows she’s certain that’s not the case, but he knows also that she won’t let him alone till he admits it, so he tries, very carefully, to admit just the one bit....

“No, that was all Danny.”

“Oh my god he kissed you.”

“ _What_? How did you get that from...?” He practically squeaks on it, and yeah, smooth McGarrett, that doesn’t give the whole thing away.

She grins. Almost fucking evilly. Seriously, he thought she’d be a good hire why exactly? 

“I knew it. You’re welcome, by the way.” And he knows he should have anticipated that. Letting her in on his desperate quest to make Danny happy with his clothing choices had been a bad, bad idea. He groans. Her smile widens. “Now, go get your boy and have some fun tonight, boss! That’s what it’s all about.” And she pats him encouragingly on the shoulder as she heads towards where Nahele and Koa are chatting over chips and dip.

He’s tempted to say something about her own outfit choice this evening, far more low-cut and obvious than she typically dares. His heart goes out to Junior, who he knows stands no chance if Tani corners him under the mistletoe. Maybe he should warn him... but, nah, he’s a big boy, he can take care of himself....

Okay, this isn’t exactly what Steve had in mind when he said he wanted everyone to relax and have some fun.

Although, maybe it was.

Danny’s laughing with Lou over the punch and cookies, and he practically glows with some supernatural holiday light. It’s like Steve is drawn to him, and he feels like he should resist. But Adam’s taken over food restocking duty, and being useful helps him to feel better (Steve’s already learned that), so he lets him be with a mouthed  _thank you_  and a warm smile—which Adam returns a little weakly, but it reaches his eyes, so that’s a good sign. 

Steve feels this brightness washing over everything, like he wants everyone to be happy and safe and content and to feel loved, and alright, maybe that second shot of rum had been a bad idea. He’d better eat something. But he’s still feeling drawn toward Danny... and as he’s thinking that, Danny looks up at him, and swear to god, when their eyes meet, fuck. It’s like slow goddamn motion or something, and the air grows thick and heavy and sounds are all muted, and he’s just propelled toward Danny, as if by some invisible force, and as he nears, impossibly slowly, the smile that widens on Danny’s face is like fucking gold. It makes Steve’s toes curl, it makes something hot and primitive unfurl in his gut, wending its way outward to his limbs, and when he gets there, he stills at Danny’s side, his arm going around Danny’s shoulders—across that soft, fuzzy flannel. Danny’s arm comes around his waist, settles with his hand tucked in his back pocket, bumping their hips together. And Steve somehow can tell. They both know it. 

_It’s all different this time_. 

And not just because of the kiss, at least he doesn’t think so. Obviously that was... that was huge, and incredible, and more than he imagined a kiss could be. But something else is at work here, and he’s not sure what it might be. Maybe it’s some kind of holiday magic. It sure feels tingly and sparkly and otherworldly. He wants to bask in it all night. 

Danny’s arm is warm and heavy against him, and he feels like he could be swept into his orbit and never leave. Lou’s commenting on something Samantha said about coming back to the sunshine for Christmas, and Danny’s making a joke about missing the snow and cold, and Lou says something about going golfing on Christmas day, and Steve is lost in the ether, floating, spinning, and he just hopes that when he lands, Danny’s there to catch him.

Danny grins up at him, almost exactly as he’s thinking it, and the smile is so warm, so full of affection. And he watches as something almost sharp passes across Danny’s expression, and he tucks his hand further in Steve’s back pocket, and gives a little squeeze, and Steve really needs to eat something because it’s like angels sing.

And maybe Lou’s gotten the sense that something is up, or maybe he just really wants to chat with Noelani, or get some food, but he moves off toward the appetizer table, where Noelani is explaining the dish she brought to Jerry (who is wearing the most outrageous Santa themed tropical shirt Steve’s ever seen). And Steve is left with the punch and cookies. And Danny.

Danny who still has his hand in Steve’s back pocket. Danny who is pressing solidly against Steve’s side. Danny whose body heat is seeping into Steve’s, and it feels like it’s transforming him from the inside out.

“Well, I think it’s going really well, babe. I think you’re on to something doing it early. Maybe we should always do it this way.” And it’s not Steve’s imagination, that Danny gives another little squeeze of his ass as he says it, and he absolutely did not miss that  _we_.  

“Yeah, we should,” Steve mutters, and he’s a little bit lost, looking into Danny’s eyes, and Danny, he knows, can tell. He can see it so clearly in those eyes that are hiding nothing right now, not one single thing.

He definitely needs to drink more.

Danny’s a step ahead of him, because he’s let go his hold on Steve, and moved to ladle up two cups of punch. He offers one to Steve, but rather than speak a toast, which Steve had been expecting, Danny just kind of stands there, pressing his lips together, eyeing Steve heatedly. Then he takes a ragged breath, lets it out on a sigh, takes a sip of his punch, and with his elbow, nudges Steve outward towards the living room and their (his? their?) guests.

Lou takes over the playlist a few cups of punch later. Jazzy, snappy versions of the usual holiday standards, and Steve realizes he should have rented a karaoke machine, because Tani and Lou do a mean rendition of  _Baby It’s Cold Outside_ , complete with side commentary.

Kamekona evidently agrees, as he sidles up to Steve midway through and points out he’s got a connection who could have gotten them one.

Things start to mellow after that, the rowdier crowd heading outside to toss the football for a bit. Noelani and her boyfriend lean sweetly against each other, chatting over punch and cookies with Adam who doesn’t look quite so crushed by the display of affection in front of him as Steve might have worried. Tani’s sucking on a candy cane, and Junior is trying really hard not to stare. But she’s got her sparkly heels off, her feet in his lap, and Steve’s pretty sure he knows he’s doomed.

When the jazzy tunes were abandoned to a discussion about possible topics for new holiday songs, Flippa started strumming absently on his ukulele, floating out soft renditions of Christmas tunes with an island flare. Lou and Renee occasionally join in, humming and singing along, while snuggling playfully together on the sofa. Steve tries not to think _relationship goals_ to himself, but fails. 

The football crew—Kamekona and Eric, along with Eddie and the two youngest and most energetic of the group—are not so much throwing the football as trash talking and laughing. And Steve knows Danny’s been eyeing him, imagining he wants to be out there as well, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to be anywhere other than where he is—ensconced in his lounge chair, Danny perched on the arm, hand on the headrest, where his fingers occasionally brush softly against Steve’s hair. Steve doesn’t ever want to be anywhere other than right here, right now. Surrounded by soft, warm, happiness. Soft, warm, happy Danny.

(Oh, he knows he’s doomed, too.)

The party’s energy ramps up again when the guys come in from playing ball and head for round two of snacks and drinks. It encourages the others to drink and nibble more as well, which is good because there is seriously a lot of food and drink, though Steve’s not sure how the punch has lasted, till he catches Danny topping it up with mostly rum. 

“Hey, buddy, better add some more juice there, dontcha think?” Steve chides, and for his pains receives a pinch on his arm and a hissed  _shhhh_.

Everyone’s cabbing it home, as per Steve’s standard regulations, so it doesn’t matter, in one sense, though obviously in others it does. 

“I’m guessing you have an agenda here? Tell me you don’t have a bet with Lou about Junior and Tani.” He can tell from Danny’s reaction he’s right. “I really don’t think they need help, bud.” He laughs softly, looking at the soon-to-be-couple, Junior holding Tani’s plate for her while she has her arm resting in his, picking at the food on it as she and Renee tease Lou about his golf obsession. 

Danny sighs, ladles out some of the mostly-rum into his cup and then Steve’s, only then adding more juice and soda to the bowl. Handing Steve his cup with a look that’s part dare, part threat, he downs his own and waits. Steve takes a step closer to Danny, close enough to be back in range of his frankly addictive body heat. Keeping eye contact, he slowly drinks his down, then holds Danny’s gaze until they’re both distracted by the boisterous resumption of Christmas tune. 

This time it’s Tani who has taken over DJ duty, putting on her own holiday playlist which consists of a good number of songs Steve’s not heard before, but Danny seems to know. (Grace's doing no doubt.) And possibly it’s the effect of Danny’s strong hand with the punch, or maybe it’s just the character of Tani’s music choices, but before Steve knows what’s happened, everyone’s dancing. And not—thankfully not—couple-type dancing (no doubt out of group awareness and sensitivity to Adam), just joyfully moving to the music. And Steve honestly can’t remember when they’ve had a better time, the extended team, like this. It feels therapeutic, honestly, and he does credit Danny’s lushy tendencies, if only a little. He knows enough to credit Tani’s forcefulness as well. And to allow that some if not all of it is directed at him. Him and a certain blond detective he’s been harboring feelings about a little too long for the liking of a certain brash, young, soft-hearted cop. Who he now remembers fourteen reasons at least why he hired. And who catches Steve watching her fondly, nods in Danny’s direction, and winks. He rolls his eyes at her, but that’s mostly to quell the blush he knows is threatening to stain his cheeks.

He does move closer to his partner, however, and almost wishes the dancing was a little more on the couply side of things. Not that he’d have the guts, really. But it’s nice to imagine he might. He loves dancing with Danny. Always has. Since that first time at Kono and Adam’s wedding... but that’s not a festive thought to have, so he shoves it away which isn’t hard to do with Eric demonstrating clearly why “E-Train” is his nickname. His nephew’s exuberance mellows Danny, as it usually does, and Steve is the one who benefits, as Danny slides against Steve’s side—ostensibly for protection, and stays there, just inches away. Close enough for his scent, his soap, his aftershave, to fill Steve’s senses, sending him back down that swirling tumble of overwhelmed, overstimulated longing. 

And no, he’s not complaining in the least. 

The dancing has more than one effect, because people switch to water in the end, which is no doubt for the best, though it does serve to break the party up... but it’s late, so it was probably time anyway. Once everyone’s rehydrated, the cookies are divided up, Steve insisting none be left (though he sees Danny set some aside, and smiles). 

Rides are arranged, hugs doled out—far more fond than ordinarily indicated for people who will no doubt see each other in the following week. In other words, it’s been a lovely party, a memorable one. And yeah, Steve’s pleased. He’s even more pleased when Danny stands at his side as they wave goodbye, his arm sliding possessively around Steve’s waist, that hand slipping into his back pocket once more. By the time he does it, everyone’s far enough away to not be likely to notice, but Steve still feels it as a statement. And not, he hopes, simply because he wants so badly for it to be one.

  
They head back inside, the house feeling so empty after having been so full. Steve always hates that—the transition from warm and loud and joyful to cold and silent. So swiftly it’s like a shock to the system. But with Danny’s arm still tightly around him, it’s not so bad. In fact, it’s kind of nice. Just them, after the crowd—and they’d spent most of the party near each other... which is something Steve thinks he should have noticed more than he seems to have, thinks that was importantly different and new. But it’s heightened now, with the others gone. It’s the two of them now, and that after party feel has a soft warmth to it, with Danny at his side. A still-cozy feeling that's somehow familiar. And he wants to savor it, so he heads them over to the sofa, to just bask in it for a while, and he’s glad he does, because Danny settles so easily against him, just like he does when they’ve been drinking too much and watching TV.

“I think that went well,” Steve says, feeling like he needs to fill the silence. “Adam seemed... less broken.”

“Yeah, babe.” Danny’s voice is low, a soft rumble against Steve’s chest. He loves that feeling. “I think it went really well.” Danny picks up Steve’s hand from where it’s resting on his knee. Turns it over so the palm’s facing up, follows the lines on it absently with his finger, like it helps him to think. “Adam’s getting through,” he says softly. “He’s really bonding with the team, and I think that helps.” Danny sighs. “I  _know_  that helps.”

Steve looks quizzically at Danny for a moment, before realizing his implication. “You mean because it helped you.”

Danny’s eyes meet Steve’s. He presses his lips together. “Yeah. It did. I know I was a jerk about it for a long time. But it did help.”

“I didn’t mind,” Steve says too fondly, against Danny’s head as he pulls him closer. “I really didn’t mind.”

It draws a slightly strangled laugh out of Danny, but he allows himself to be held. It’s a nice moment. A cozy moment of understanding in a day that’s been a lot about inscrutable looks and enigmatic statements. And Steve doesn’t mind that. Doesn’t at all. But it’s nice to have this moment that’s not opaque. That just simply is. He figures he’d better enjoy it, too. Because he’s pretty sure that, in terms of enigmatic inscrutability, he’s only breached the tip of that iceberg.

  
They start the tidying up with little things. Trash, cups, plates, unfinished food. Most of it goes right in the bag Steve walks around with, and Danny looks like he’s helping, but mostly he’s rearranging things. Moving the punch cups together, adding the cookie trays to the larger food table so at least the dishes are all together. But it’s slightly odd busy work, not at all like Danny’s usual post-event clean up which is brisk and efficient, so it makes Steve pay attention.

Danny’s got strands of mini candy canes looped around his neck, and Steve regrets having missed how that happened but suspects Tani had something to do with it. He’s picked his punch cup back up, or more likely gotten a new one, and each time he ambles past the nearly empty bowl, he refills. Just a sip or two, but he’s done it enough times, Steve thinks the likelihood of him being even vaguely sober by the time they’re done will be virtually nil. He tries to keep from imagining Danny’s doing it on purpose, so he has a reason to stay. It’s not something Danny ordinarily feels compelled to have—a reason to sleep over at Steve’s. The fact that he might want an easy, no questions excuse tonight... well, Steve’s trying not to hope.

Steve starts the bigger parts of clean up and he waits for Danny to join in. It doesn’t take long for him to work out that Danny seems more intent on getting in Steve’s way. When Steve moves to clear the largest trays of appetizers, empty except for a few crumbs, Danny blocks his path. Steve bumps into him, but doesn’t push, doesn’t move to go around him. Just stands there, right against Danny. Who also doesn’t move.    
  
“You’re not actually helping....” Steve finally whispers.

“Really? I thought I was.”

Danny steps just a tiny bit to the side, so Steve can get by, but has to brush against Danny pretty overtly. Which he does. Slowly. Hoping Danny will follow him to the kitchen... which he does. Steve shakes the crumbs carefully into the sink, rinses the tray off, sets it aside to clean more thoroughly later. When he turns around, Danny’s there again, just standing in his path. That damn heated expression from earlier intensifying, the closer Steve walks.

“If you help me, we can be done sooner, you know,” he points out. And honestly he’s not sure what he means by it, and yeah, it sounds suggestive. He’s also pretty sure he’s not breathing. Which could become problematic pretty quickly considering he’s basically been dizzy all day as it is. 

Danny’s answer totally does  _not_  help. “I’m in no hurry. I’ve got all weekend.” It’s low, it’s pointed, it’s loaded with layers. It’s also news to Steve. He’d hoped Danny might stay the night, yes. But it’s his weekend to have Grace and Charlie.... 

“What about the kids?” He asks.

Danny’s expression is inscrutable. “Rachel has them for the weekend.”

“But I thought it was your weekend...?”

“I have other plans....” And suddenly Danny’s expression isn’t quite so unreadable. 

Steve’s not sure how to react. Part of him wants to play this game with Danny, answer back  _Oh, you do, do you?_  Part of him wants to push him up against the wall and kiss him till they both pass out (which probably wouldn’t take very long, what with that whole not breathing thing and all). And part of him... well, he’s not quite sure what to call it, but it’s what he’s gonna go with:

“Good,” he murmurs, grinning slyly as he steps carefully around Danny, and back out to the living room for more dishes.

He knows he chose right when Danny doesn’t immediately recover. Which he knows because when Steve returns to the kitchen with the next tray, Danny’s not moved. He has managed to close his mouth—assuming it’d fallen open, which Steve is. Assuming, that is. Danny hasn’t moved out of the path, however, so Steve steps around him again, dumps the crumbs from the second tray, rinses it off. When he’s done, Danny’s still standing there, looking surprisingly unsure, so when Steve gets close, he slides a hand around Danny’s hip and palms his ass. 

“That’s okay, you don’t have to help, you just stand there and look pretty.”

And in all fairness, he wouldn’t be shocked to find himself being punched in the face, but no blows come his way, so he continues on to the living room. 

His return trip is more laden, with several of the smaller plates and dishes stacked, so he’s pleased to note Danny has moved out of the way, backing himself up to the island and leaning against it with an amused expression that suggests he maybe didn’t mind being told to be still and look pretty. (Or having his ass grabbed.)

It encourages Steve, as it was perhaps intended, so when he heads back out for more dishes, he cups Danny’s cheek and says “Thank you, dear.”

This time when he comes back, Danny’s moved to the other side of the island—the water bottle in his hand explaining why, at least in part. But something about the expression on his face is making Steve think there’s a reason that’s less obvious. One that he ought to know... but doesn’t. 

Next trip's the punch bowl and there’s still a bit left, and the fruit has melted out of the ice, so Steve picks an orange slice out, peels it, and pops it in his mouth. “Punch was the right call, buddy,” he says, watching Danny eye him intently as he picks up another orange slice. “I’m glad you suggested it.” This time, as the fruit passes Steve’s lips, Danny licks his own, and dangit but it nearly breaks Steve’s resolve. “Put the rest of this in that pitcher and toss it in the fridge, wouldja?” Steve asks, he hopes sweetly. Then heads to the back to let Eddie out one last time and then lock up. 

By the time he’s done securing everything and turning off the lights, Danny’s shut off the kitchen lights as well, and meets him at the bottom of the stairs, two bottles of water in hand—one of which he hands to Steve.

It’s an oddly tense moment for all that it’s one they’ve shared so many times before, and Steve’s feeling a little lost. But then Danny moves to that second step again, turns around to face him. He reaches out for Steve’s shirt front, grabs a fistful of it, and pulls him close. And this time the kiss is softer. Warm, rather than hot, tender rather than insistent. But then,  _that_  kiss was meant to cut tension. This one... this one’s more like a  _thank you_. Or a  _good job_. Steve wishes Danny told him good job this way more often.

When Danny releases his hold on Steve’s shirt he smiles so sweetly, whispers “Good night,” and climbs the stairs, Eddie following in his wake. Leaving Steve standing there, cold and bereft, and a little bit in shock.

Eventually his brain kicks into action and he heads to his room. Alone.

Well, this isn’t exactly how he saw tonight going.

_Dammit_.

  
In the morning, Steve’s up at just about his normal time, but he’s not really up for his usual routine. He knows getting one’s hopes up is a dangerous game. But he’d really imagined this morning might have begun a little differently than it has.

He stumbles, slightly sleepily, down towards the kitchen, thinking he’ll get a start on the dishes—that at least will make him feel accomplished. It’s not till he’s reached the bottom of the stairs that it occurs to him that he smells coffee brewing and something sweet baking. And, okay, that makes his heart lift a little. But he’s still feeling stung, as he stands on that second step (you know, the one from which Danny kissed him yesterday not once but twice), and he feels a slight but unpleasant twinge of bitterness flash across his skin. He wants to shake it off, but he’s tired. He didn’t sleep very well, and maybe he’s getting towards the old and grumpy end of the spectrum—or maybe that’s just Danny wearing off on him after so many years of close contact. (Close but not nearly damn close enough.)

Still, he pulls it together and heads into the kitchen, and the sight that greets him is on the one hand frustrating, but on the other hand it’s strangely encouraging, because Danny’s done all the dishes, and shit, when must he have gotten up? Steve almost thinks he couldn't have slept much... which, wouldn’t that be typical of Danny. To not sleep. After leaving Steve hanging like that. 

He growls slightly, but then he peeks in the oven. And sees Danny’s crumb cake. The crumb cake Danny only makes on holidays and birthdays. So, that’s interesting. He’s playing it as though this really is Christmas morning. As though last night was Christmas eve. And Steve’s not sure how to take that. He’s also not sure where Danny might be. He wouldn’t leave the oven unattended. Would he?

Steve checks the timer and sees it’s about done, so he pours himself a coffee and leans back against the counter, sipping the perfectly brewed elixir with a frustrated sigh. Danny’s coffee is always better than his. He uses the same grounds, the same machine, but when Danny makes it, the coffee tastes infinitely better. And, well frankly that irks Steve to no end. Someone thoughtful might suggest there’s more to his reaction than simple irritation. Perhaps a sense that Danny ought to be making Steve coffee every morning? Mmmm. Someone  _might_  think Steve feels that way. Someone observant. (A detective perhaps...?)

Steve _is_ being observant. Just in a different direction. He soaks up the smell of butter and sugar melting together, flour and milk and egg rising to form light, pillowy bites of sweet yumminess. He’s never admitted it to Danny, but Steve loves his crumb cake. It’s such a simple thing, basically coffeecake without the cinnamon. But there’s something about it that speaks to something deep within him. Like a childhood memory that’s just out of reach. Yet he knows it can’t connect to anything in his own past. His mom never made sweet things like that, and his grandma’s coffeecake was more like stollen, with candied fruits in impossibly bright colors, and a milk and powdered sugar icing drizzled over the top. Danny’s crumb cake is somehow pure. Light, airy. Just sweet enough to keep Danny happy, but not so sweet as to be offensive to Steve. It’s their perfect morning treat. And in an odd way, Steve thinks maybe _that’s_ what the memory is for him. Less an actual memory and more a promise. Of what might be. What could be.... If only they’d let it.

While he’s standing there, musing over cake and potential, the timer dings, and Steve waits for Danny to appear. He doesn’t. A horrible, prickling sensation washes over Steve, thinking maybe Danny’s left, but that makes no sense. Danny wouldn’t leave with the oven on and thinking Steve was still asleep. Maybe they’re still playing some sort of game here and Steve just can’t see it yet. 

So he takes the crumb cake out of the oven, sets it on the rack to cool. Then inspiration sparks, and he’s on solid footing at least. He whips up some eggs, adds leftover bacon and cheese for a quick omelet, finds the pitcher of leftover punch and fruit and pulls several of the orange slices out. Arranges two plates with half the omelet each, slices of orange, and then carefully lifts out sizeable slabs of crumb cake. He grabs one of the trays from last night to carry it all, adding a fresh mug of coffee along with his own, and heads out back to look for his wayward partner.

Sure enough, Danny’s sitting down at the water, in their favorite chairs in the sand, Eddie at his feet. And yes, that pleases Steve—not just that Danny’s still here, not just that Eddie’s claimed him, but that he’s chosen this spot to make whatever statement he’s trying to make with this not-really-Christmas-morning ritual. He’s wearing his plaid shirt from last night, and as Steve nears he realizes he’s not bothered to put on much else. His chest is bare, and dammit, Danny, that is  _not_  a display to wield so carelessly. He’s got on matchingly bright red boxer briefs, and Steve decides it’s the best outfit anyone’s ever worn for breakfast on the beach, ever.

Maybe it’s Danny’s clothing, or maybe the crumb cake, but Steve can’t resist. “Merry Christmas,” he says as he sets the tray down on the table, and when Danny looks up at him, he knows he’s guessed right, because delight shines out of Danny like rays of sunshine. He looks assessingly over the food, then his gaze lingers on Steve, who feels oddly overdressed and simultaneously underdressed in his sleep pants and tee. But from the heat in Danny’s eyes, Steve guesses he doesn’t find fault. And maybe that pleases him. Just, you know, a little bit.

When Danny doesn’t remark on the fact that Steve caught the crumb cake before it burnt, or that he made eggs, or that he brought him a mug of coffee, Steve isn’t really surprised. Danny accepts it all easily, as though it had been the agreed upon plan. And as he sucks on an orange slice, tossing his other to Eddie despite Steve’s previous warnings about spoiling him, Steve finds he’s right back where he’d been the day before—struggling to interpret what the hell is going on, but not actually  _minding_  terribly much. 

Which is probably good, because while they eat, they watch the ocean and they don’t talk, about what’s going on here, about anything at all. But in all honesty, they do that a lot, the not talking. And Steve always thinks it’s nice. Today it’s  _really_  nice. And he knows he wants this not just on pretend holidays, but on random Tuesdays, and maybe every other Sunday as well. He wants it so badly he’s afraid to find out how it will feel, after this, to know he can  _in theory_  have it—and yet to not actually  _have_  it. He thinks it might drive him insane. (Although, he’s already feeling his blood starting to  _fizz_ , if he’s honest.)

When they finish, Danny takes the tray, leaves Steve with a sharp look that says  _stay_ , which is funny because Eddie presumably misses it, and he follows Danny up to the house. Danny returns alone a short while later—no doubt having fed Eddie, at a guess offering him a few crumbs of the cake as well—with fresh mugs of coffee, and when he sits, he stretches his legs out in front of him, digging his toes in the sand. His shirt falls open, leaving his chest exposed all the way down to his very low-slung, tight-fitting underwear, the line of his not-entirely-flaccid dick showing to nice effect. Steve can’t help but look. He’s pretty sure Danny wants him to.

“So, babe,” he finally says, glancing over—to see if Steve’s noticed his little display, perhaps. He looks curious. As though he’s trying to work something out. But also pleased, no doubt because Steve has, in fact, noticed. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

And, yes, part of Steve is tempted to be honest.  _Fucking you into the mattress till you scream my name?_  But he’s too unsettled to be that forward. And maybe it’s the ants in his pants that does it, but he realizes he’s gotta get them out of the house if he’s gonna have any chance of thinking of anything  _but_  sex. Which is probably why he suggests surfing, and if Danny’s disappointed, he doesn’t show it. In fact, he seems to think it’s a good idea. And alright, at least it’s well-worn and comfortable Steve and Danny territory. If nothing else it will be a break from the maddening heaps of sexual tension Danny’s been pouring into Steve’s soul. So, there’s that.

It’s only an hour or so later, after taking Eddie for a quick jog, that they find themselves catching some really great winter waves over at Queen’s Beach. And considering they tend to complain about not getting enough surfing in during the winter, it’s even more satisfying than usual. There’s this lovely sense of gratification, of making good use of the season for once. And Steve thinks that Maybe this bonus Christmas thing is a good idea in more ways than one. 

When they’ve exhausted themselves making the most of it (as the winter waves take more effort than the mellower summer waves do), they grab their favorite deliciously messy burgers from Teddy’s and collapse on the grass at the edge of the sand, eating again in satisfied silence, this time under the fleeting shade of the palms. And if while they were surfing and eating burgers they were simply being Steve-and-Danny of the past many years, by the time they finish eating, the more tense, more taut, more  _suggestive_  version of Steve-and-Danny starts to flicker back to life. 

They decide to make a nice dinner, in keeping with the whole fake Christmas thing. And they’ve gone grocery shopping literally hundreds of times together. But never like this. Mostly it’s little things... like Danny standing far too close when they select a chicken to roast. And Danny is fussy about his choice of potatoes, but he knows full well that Steve is at least as particular, so it’s really  _not_  necessary for him to be so completely in Steve’s personal space. By the time Danny disappears into the frozen aisle saying “I’ll get dessert,” Steve’s relieved to get two minutes to himself to breathe and calm the heck down. He’s also relieved for the loose-fitting board shorts he’s wearing, which help to hide his body’s response to Danny’s attentions—unfortunately they do nothing for the flush on his cheeks, though obviously that could just be the sun.

When they get home, Danny puts the groceries away while Steve takes Eddie for a run, then they shower and sit out in the sun with some beers. And the build-up of that tautness, the tension created by their unusual closeness during shopping, this time doesn’t dissipate, in the more accustomed post-surfing activities of dog/shower/beer. So by the time they decide they’re ready to start cooking, there’s no ramping up, no lag in the slightly anxious energy—it’s already there, and in all probability it only grew stronger during that normally mellow time. Which Steve finds a little unsettling.

Especially because cooking is normally a relaxing thing for them. They’re good in the kitchen together. _Cooking_ , that is. They’re good cooking together. Although Steve’s sure they’d be good with _other_ things in the kitchen, which is a thought that adds nicely to the pile of sexual tension that continues to build to ridiculous levels as Danny turns every little food prep move, every nuanced slice or sauté or rinse of a damn vegetable into some kind of sexual innuendo. He’s doing it on purpose, he has to be. And Steve. Well, Steve just keeps taking it. He’s honestly taking it supremely well, despite feeling somewhat uneasy about it. It’s like he’s some kind of bottomless pit of being able to store sexual teasing from Danny. It briefly occurs to him to wonder if Danny isn’t somehow testing him. Like it’s some kind of game he’s playing—just how sexually tense can Steve McGarrett get before he implodes?

The thing is, and maybe this is the problem. Because when Steve was just tense-tense (yesterday, before the party), Danny dealt with it by kissing him. So, the way Steve stores his sexual tension... and there’s a thing he’s never thought about before. Where or how does one even store sexual tension? Does it fill you up from the inside? Does it layer over the top of your skin? It feels oddly somewhere in between which makes literally zero sense, and yet, Steve’s prepared to swear that’s how it feels. But what it  _doesn’t_  do, evidently, is motivate Danny to  _do_  something about it. 

Steve likes the flirting. He does. He enjoys the tension and even the uneasiness. It’s a great kick. A powerful high, his nerves humming with intensity. But swear to god if it doesn’t fucking lead somewhere tonight he’s going to lose it—and it might not be very pretty if he does.

And the thing is, Steve is under absolutely no misapprehension that it’ll be anyone other than Danny who does the doing of something. That’s something he knows—both intuitively and simply because he’s known Danny a long damn time. Danny makes the move, or they do nothing... so Steve waits. But he also starts to think about how normal tension presents that’s different and motivating of action (a kiss!) while Danny seems perfectly content to let sexual tension continue to build.

Still, dinner is lovely. And honestly, Steve wants to call it romantic. They eat in the dining room, by candlelight. With the fancy wine glasses, filled with the expensive wine Danny’d picked out. (“To celebrate,” he’d explained somewhat enigmatically.) The roasted chicken with butter and sage, the cornbread stuffing Steve had discovered at Thanksgiving, the garlic mashed potatoes, Danny’s favorite roasted green beans with mustard glaze... all of it is perfect. All of it turns out fabulously well, and somehow the timing is spot on as well—which is after all something they have struggled with. Timing. Well, maybe that’s changing. 

Danny finishes off the meal by making his surprise dessert, one which was clearly planned specifically for Steve. He makes mint chocolate sundaes, in Steve’s grandmother’s crystal dessert dishes. They’d been in the china cupboard in front of the punch bowl, and when Steve had moved them to get the bowl out, he’d confessed the little sundae cups were a childhood (and very little used) favorite. He doesn’t do that a lot, admit stuff about his childhood. So he shouldn’t be surprised that Danny’d picked up on it and decided to do something about it. It makes Steve’s heart thrum uncomfortably off-beat with the rest of him, although maybe that’s just the sugar.

All in all, it’s probably the nicest meal they’ve had together in ages.... Just the two of them, that is. And that’s a difference that sits uneasily on Steve’s skin. Because he realizes that so many of their meals together have been with other people. First when Junior was living with Steve, then with Adam being alone. Added to Steve’s usual time with Nahele, and the fact that Danny’s spent more time with Eric since his recent breakup. And of course, the kids have both been with Danny a lot more since Rachel’s divorce from Stan. In fact, they’ve had extra people around so often lately, he’s not realized how little time they’ve had that's just them. But he’s realized it now and he’s nearly overwhelmed with wanting that back. And maybe that’s what does it—flips the switch from sexual tension to just plain  _tense_ —because yep, he starts to panic about not having time alone together more. He’s just realized he’s missed it and not two seconds later he realizes how unlikely it is that he’ll get it.

Danny notices the change in tension almost instantly. Steve’s not sure how he can tell, but it’s almost like the light in the room shifts. The air shifts. The air seems different... it _sounds_  different. Is that even a thing? Whatever it is, it propels Danny into action. He starts to clear the dishes, and as he does, he suggests to Steve that he grab the whiskey and glasses and head up to the lanai... and maybe he could play his guitar for Danny?

Which is interesting. They’ve done it a number of times, Steve playing for Danny. Just not lately (again, the whole not being alone much thing), because Steve has to be in the right mood, to agree to play for someone other than himself. Danny’d worked out an oddly complex formula for determining when it was likely to happen, that Steve would submit to play for him, and gradually Steve became more at ease with it and he doesn’t mind it now, he’s actually started to enjoy it... to look forward to Danny suggesting it. But it’s been a while since that’s happened, so it throws Steve a little. He’s glad though, that Danny’s asked. And relieved he’s been practicing. Which is because he’s been working on a lovely arrangement of  _Auld Lang Syne_ , and if that’s because he’s thinking maybe it’ll be him and Danny alone together on New Year’s Eve, well, we’ll just keep that between Steve and the guitar for the moment.

Steve’s thought all this as he’s grabbed the whiskey and glasses and headed up to get his guitar out, and... huh. That process has mellowed his tension substantially. And, of course. Danny  _knew_  that would happen. Knew asking Steve to play would center him, give him something to focus on. And that makes Steve smile. It also makes his belly feel warm and fuzzy, and that’s before the whiskey.

By the time Danny shows up, Eddie trailing behind him (and Steve’s not missed that Eddie’s taken to Danny as his own since the party, though he’s not sure what to make of it), Steve’s poured them each a glass. He’s been softly warming up, dancing around actually playing through the piece, but strumming snatches of it, his favorite bits, a couple of the more challenging passages. But when Danny settles into the chair across from Steve, kicking his feet up on the coffee table between them, Steve starts at the beginning. It’s a lilting, sweet rendition of the popular tune—the arranger was clearly fond of the melody, and wanted to elaborate on it, embellish it but lovingly, tenderly. Steve thinks it works remarkably well, and more importantly, Danny seems to enjoy it—although Danny always enjoys whatever Steve plays. Still, Steve’s pleased with his choice.

They settle into a peaceable, cozy sort of place, as Steve plays, and he isn’t ready to let that fade, so he moves seamlessly on to some of his favorite mellow slack key tunes. And he plays for longer than he usually does, which he knows it’s not lost on Danny. When he does eventually stop, Danny asks him to play  _Auld Lang Syne_  again, and he smiles, and as he begins, Danny moves closer, easing out of his chair, perching on the edge of the table in front of Steve—practically in his personal space. When Steve finishes, he slowly sets the guitar aside, sensing something’s coming, and sure enough, Danny’s  _right there_ , right inside his space, pressing towards him, leaning in and reaching his hand around the back of Steve’s neck, pulling him gently but insistently close for a kiss.

This one starts slow, languid. But it heats and speeds rapidly up, lighting the space between them with flickering flashes of half-sleeping desire—which frankly shocks the hell out of Steve as he hadn’t thought there’d been anything remotely  _sleepy_  about his desire for Danny. But it’s like once it’s started burning, there’s no stopping it, and it starts to spill over, and as Danny starts to tumble into Steve, he manages to stand, to get them both to stand, Eddie skittering out of the way, presumably to bed and to safety.

“For godsake, can we take this inside?” Steve gasps against Danny’s lips, and Danny just nods, pressing back close for more kisses, as though he’s simply agreed to what Steve has asked, without understanding it. Steve chuckles, pushes back just enough on Danny’s chest to be able to reach down and grab his guitar, and then navigates them inside—and  _to his bed_.

Oh, god, finally.

  
Steve’s wanted this for so long, he wouldn’t know where to begin if he had a list. Which he doesn’t. That would be weird. Although... it begins to seem as though Danny  _does_  have a list. A very detailed list.

That lack of awareness Steve had just ascribed to Danny is utterly incorrect. Danny is highly aware, of everything. His fingers move like they’ve practiced this a hundred times. The tie of Steve’s lounge pants is undone, Danny’s warm fingers slip inside the band, against the bare skin, inching down till he reaches Steve’s briefs. Danny lifts the waist on those as well, pulls them forward—clearly aware Steve’s already damn hard—and he releases Steve’s lips to lower both pants and briefs carefully all the way to the floor. It’s so like what had been running through Steve’s mind yesterday when Danny took his shoes off and un-tucked his shirt that it feels like déjà vu. Which is a huge fucking thrill, but it’s an even bigger one when Steve steps out of the pants and Danny stays low, seating himself on the edge of the bed, hands coming up to Steve’s knees, pulling him forward till Steve’s dick is right exactly at the perfect...  _oh fuck_.

Steve’s always known Danny was full of hot air, had a mouth like a... like a... oh, god like the hottest, wettest, softest most amazing thing.... He totally should have known Danny’d be goddamn amazing with his mouth. It’s only logical. And so, so, so right.  _Too_  right. Oh, shit, _way_ too right—“Danny!”—and Danny pulls off with the most fabulous wet popping sound and the filthiest, most heated, lustful  _glare_  (yes, it’s definitely a glare, oh,  _god_ ) Steve has ever had the good fortune to witness. “I am going to last about five more seconds if you keep that up.” And yep. Danny looks precisely as though that is the best news he’s ever heard and it proves him utterly right about everything ever (it’s a smug, pleased look, is the point). Which, with Danny’s mouth this close to his dick, Steve would absolutely be willing to admit—Danny wins everything. 

Patently aware of this victory, Danny starts to move his mouth back towards said throbbing dick, but instead his hands go up around Steve’s waist, and he scoots back on the bed and pulls at the same time, and Steve lands right on top of Danny, and now there’s a whole new world of sensations that threaten to overwhelm Steve. Because he’s spent a lot of time near Danny. Really near to Danny. With and without shirts on. ( _Surfing_ , he means surfing.) But this... even though Danny is still fully clothed, and Steve still has his shirt on.... This is utterly different. This is the press of two hard bodies against each other. This is weight, and solid, muscular strength. It’s power. And it’s control. And heat. Oh, god, the heat. Danny’s like a fucking furnace, no wonder he always complains about the heat—he doesn’t need any more, he has enough of his own. It radiates out from within him like the sun he’s always complaining about.

But that’s not the best, none of that is what really gets to Steve. What really takes his breath away is the way Danny’s looking at him.

Despite Steve’s good few inches on Danny height-wise, they’re actually really well matched physically. Steve’s used to needing to be careful not to squish his partners, but Danny is not minding at all. He seems to be enjoying it, enjoying being held down.... And the ghost of a thought tickles at the back of Steve’s mind about that, about Danny, about restraint and control and power and struggle. Because Steve might have guessed that Danny wouldn’t want this, wouldn’t want to be held down, would want to be the one to _control_. But Steve’s watching, and he sees, so clearly—oh, so stunningly clearly—that Danny is just on the verge of losing himself in the feeling of being held firmly in place by the entirety of Steve’s larger, heavier body. _And he looks completely blissed out_.

So much makes sense now. So much that had been slightly blurred before. The dance and tease and taunting that have been Danny’s theme—pushing, but only so far. Withdrawing before he could step over the line himself. Steve had been holding back, certain that Danny needed to be the one to make that final push. But he knows now, from that look in Danny’s eyes. Danny needs it to be Steve. He’s brought them this far. He’s _been_ bringing them _so_ close. But he needs— _wants_ —it to be Steve to take them over the edge. And Steve thinks he should understand that better... feels like he’s missing a piece he ought to be able to see more clearly, but he can’t. Mostly because now it’s suddenly obvious to him where the path lies, it’s all he can see. And he knows if he doesn’t start down it soon... well. He needs to start down it  _right now_.

So he does.

The first thing to go is his own shirt—Danny’s been fingering the hem of it, twisting it in his hands, probably to keep himself from grabbing at Steve’s ass, because that’s where they go as soon as it’s off. Steve savors the feeling, of his naked body against Danny’s fully clothed one, and the temptation to just rub himself the rest of the way off against that soft fabric is nearly impossible to resist, but he knows it’ll be worth it to wait. He growls a soft grunt of frustration as he presses his dick against Danny’s swollen one, and is rewarded with a gasp and Danny’s hips bucking up into his own.

“ _Clothes_.  _Off_.  _Now_.”

Danny’s breath hitches, and Steve knows he’s on the right path. He sits back on his heels, giving Danny space to struggle out of his shirt, tossing it back over his head, then grabbing for his own shorts, fumbling with the tie till Steve swats his hands away, which then move back behind Danny so he can lift his butt off the bed, making it easier for Steve to pull the shorts (and  _no underwear_ , goddammit, Daniel) carefully down—Danny’s dick springing free as soon as they are.   

And Steve’s lost, for a moment, in the sight before him. Danny still leaning back on his hands, half upright, and fully, _fully_ hard. But again, it’s the look on his face that gets to Steve. He recognizes the taunting, the teasing in it. But there’s something more to it, something wanty, needy... and finally, Steve  _gets_  it. And it makes so much sense it nearly knocks the breath out of him. 

Danny, who has been so badly hurt. Danny who has been left, been lied to, been neglected, been taken advantage of, been used and discarded. Danny needs to know he’s really wanted.  _Needed_. Like air. Which is perfect because Steve is absolutely certain that if he doesn’t get Danny fully in his life after this he will positively cease to be able to breathe.

He just needs to prove it.

So he begins by leaning forward, pressing Danny, inch by inch, further into the mattress. Aligning their bodies so perfectly it makes his skin hum. Danny’s breaths are coming in short, jagged starts, and Steve’s worried he’ll pass out if he doesn’t take a real breath. The best way he can think to make that happen is to lower his mouth to Danny’s neck and  _bite_. Hard enough to leave a mark... because he’s guessing—and yep, he’s right. Danny sucks in a full breath, lets it out on a blissed out whimper, and Steve feels Danny start to leak against his belly.  

Now he knows exactly what to do, though he keeps an extra close watch on Danny’s reactions as he does. Ordinarily he would talk someone through something like this, but he knows (ironic, given it’s Danny and the whole wanting Steve to talk about his feelings thing) Danny needs him to just  _know_  and give him what he needs. And Steve wants, very much, for Danny to know that he understands. And maybe it’s pride, maybe it’s possessiveness, maybe it’s whatever it’s been since the first damn day Steve laid eyes on the guy... he’s just known.  _Danny’s his_. Only he can truly give Danny what he needs, what he wants, what he deserves. Maybe he’s been an ass about it over the years, but he’s done with that now. Done with not being fully committed to this impossibly wonderful and endlessly infuriating and goddamn fucking gorgeous man beneath him. Done with giving him the chance to continue to wreck himself on the attempt at a relationship with anyone other than Steve. Done. From now on, it’s just them. And Steve’s going to show Danny that, he’s going to write it on his body, drive it into his soul with his kisses, with his teeth, with his dick.

He starts by spreading his body out so enough of his weight is still resting on Danny’s. He knows that need, to feel held down, grounded, rooted,  _weighted_. It’s a comfort thing, on a deep, traumatized, wounded level—he’s used it on ops when there’s been no other choice, and it’s not always done as mindfully as he’s doing it now, a lot of the time it’s out of sheer needfulness. But he knows the power of it, and he puts that knowledge into his actions now. With some of his weight spread off and over the sides of Danny’s body, not just on top of him, he can turn the hold into an all-encompassing thing—and he knows that’s what Danny craves... feeling surrounded. It’s one of the things Steve finds so compelling about being in the sea, especially at home. Waikiki is the most womb-like ocean experience. It’s a therapy he’d missed painfully when he’d been gone—and he’d known enough to understand why. But he knows too he can evoke some of the feeling of that in the way he constrains Danny. 

He feels the changes in Danny’s breathing... the slight shifts and he settles under him. The sounds so low they’re not audible, he only knows Danny’s making them because he can  _feel_  them. And after all this time, he _knows_. He can read every little nuance of Danny’s body. Every shift, every twitch. Knows his every tell, his every possible move. And it’s the most amazing feeling to be taking that knowledge and applying it here. Everything about this... everything changes here, and echoes back, changing everything in turn. Steve knows it, can feel it already happening, and it propels him further.

Teeth and lips are huge for Danny, Steve’s somehow always known that—maybe because he’s always seen how Danny looks to his mouth. His eyes will come up to his face, read something from his eyes, but they always settle on his lips. Steve had worked out, eventually, that the whole “this face, that face” thing Danny used to do was mostly about the set of his mouth. So he knows he can do things to Danny with it now that will send ripples through him, back to that time, back to the beginning. Because there’s no way on earth Danny would have admitted it then, and unless Steve’s very much mistaken, he won’t even admit it now. But Steve knows. There’d been part of Danny that had wanted him, already, way back then. The part of Steve that had wanted Danny had just been impossibly larger than whatever part of Danny might have been willing to comply... and that must have been overwhelming to Danny. But those parts are now, if not perfectly matched at least reasonably equitable, and that alone is going to keep Steve from regretting having not done this a whole fucking lot sooner.

He licks up the side of Danny’s neck, biting along his ear, grumbling at the back of it—as though he could put the words directly inside Danny’s ear:  _Wanted this. So long_. They’re more sounds than comprehensible words, but he can tell Danny understands. He licks back down Danny’s neck, seeking out that one spot that will...  _yes, like that_. Danny tenses, his body draws up, that involuntary reflex at that most sensitive spot. Steve sinks his teeth in again, right over it. Not hard enough to leave marks, and then he sucks, lapping at it with his tongue when he lets go, working his way out across his shoulder, seeking the other heighted points to bite at, to suck, to lick. At the bicep, he traces a pattern with his finger to echo his own tattoo, and he guesses Danny gets it. Which hints at another point he’s curious about—Danny’s fascination with Steve’s ink. While that stirs ideas deep within his mind, he heads slowly (achingly slowly) over to the other side, not dipping low enough to reach Danny’s pebbled nipples, and not going high enough to sink into his delicious mouth. Focused for now on where he knows he needs to be—those surface, too-sensitive bits of skin that send shivers all along Danny’s too-aware, too-ramped up, too-heightened nerves.

Steve’s wondered before, what it might be like if he could regularly fuck Danny into submission. That taut, strung, ready-to-snap, to spring, to blow—that sharp energy that sparks off Danny when he gripes at Steve. He’s long suspected there was a note of sexual tension to it. He’s sure now he was right all along, although some klaxon of warning suggests he might be making it worse by proving just how well he _can_ take it. That Danny’s need will  _grow_ , at least at first, upon that acknowledgement from Steve. 

_That_ , he realizes, is what Danny has been doing the past two days.... Watching Steve to see how much he can take.

_Oh, god_. And realizing Steve will _keep on taking_.... His limitless ability to take that tension from Danny... to allow it to seep off of Danny and on to Steve—which means he was right. Danny really was testing him. 

He’s so fucking glad he passed.

_And speaking of_....

“Babe.”

“Mmmm.”

“Hey.”

“ _Hey_....” Steve hears it in his own voice. The dopiness. His body is still in control—credit his training. But his heart. Fuck, his heart is so far gone.... And dammit but he loves it.

“I know what you’re trying to do, babe. And I know I need it. _Have_ needed it. But if you keep it up I’m going to come all over you just from this and I would very much rather....” He swallows.

Steve pushes up on his elbows, so he can get a better look at Danny. Danny who is flushed, and rosy, and glowing, and already looking gloriously fucked. He grins slyly, figuring he knows where Danny’s going with this.

Danny sees Steve’s reaction, shakes his head, rolls his eyes, then presses his lips together, nodding. He knows Steve wants him to say it. (Again, with the irony here....)

“I very much want to come with you in me. There. Happy?”

“Danny, I can honestly say I have never been happier.”

And with one more careful press of his body against Danny’s, he rolls off, over to the bedside table, grabs the bottle of lube he’s thankfully recently replaced (yes he goes through a lot of lube—you see what he’s been dealing with, he’s needed it). Crawling slowly, but less slowly than before, down Danny’s chest, kissing along his side, into the fold at his hip, licking towards Danny’s leaking cock, tangling his tongue in the golden hairs that trail towards his secondary destination. He sucks briefly at the tip, just to tidy up before he nuzzles lower. Danny hitches his hips up, and Steve slides one hand beneath him, holding him up to nuzzle even lower. Danny’s hands settle on Steve’s head, not pushing, not pressing, not guiding... more as though he’s trying to reassure himself it’s really Steve. His fingers run over Steve’s too-short hair, seeking something to twine into, but not finding it. It’s an echo of the brushing of his fingers against Steve’s scalp from last night, and with a wave of dizziness Steve wonders if Danny’d had this in mind then. It wouldn’t surprise him.

Awkwardly, with one hand, Steve gets the bottle open and squeezes some lube on his hand, messily, before recapping it and tossing it to the side. His first finger goes in so effortlessly he’s almost suspicious Danny’d gotten a head start before he came upstairs—but Danny reacts, just as surprised as Steve is, so he figures that’s not true. Just from his attentions, then? He groans as he slides a second finger in, and there—the tight press he’d expected, and it sends waves of anticipation all along his already sparking nerves. Danny’s hands have left his head, meanwhile, and they’ve found a pillow, which they’re shoving at Steve impatiently.

“ _Patience_ ,” he growls out, leaving his fingers where they are, but nuzzling back in at the same time, breathing heavily in and out, filling his senses with Danny till he feels like he’s floating, feels the pulsing of the waves as though he’s floating in that womb-like fluid that is the ocean on the shores of Oahu. And he’s hit by this very real sense that Danny’s always reminded him of home. Maybe because of how they met, maybe because Danny will always be so intimately tied up with Steve’s own homecoming. But he thinks—if you can call it that when he’s so utterly, deliciously lost in these overwhelming, all encompassing sensations of Danny and ocean and Hawaii and home... he thinks there’s more to it. Some deep, soul-level knowing. If you took Steve and you took Danny and you put them anywhere, at any time... Steve’s certain they would find each other. They would end up, eventually, here. Where they so clearly belong.

And that’s what does it. His fingers slide out, and Danny shoves the pillow under him, and Steve’s got the bottle back in his hand and he’s slathering it over himself—eyes fixed on Danny’s, eyes _always_ fixed on Danny’s, always hungry for his reaction, always seeking his response. And Danny helps guide him into place, and their hands meet, Danny’s covering his, then moving back to hold himself for Steve as he lowers and slides, slowly,  _home_.

He comes to rest, hands on either side of Danny’s chest, and they’re both a little breathless, both chuckling, almost laughing, giddy with finally being here. And there’s this moment of _holy shit we’re really actually doing this_ , and for a few seconds it’s kind of weird and slightly worrying. But then Danny shifts, and Steve moves deeper inside him, and they gasp. And the moment has dissolved into the rightness of this. And then they’re in it, and they meld together, seamlessly, effortlessly, as though this isn’t their first time, but their one hundredth time and they’re goddamn pros at this. As though they’ve been made only for each other. He’s never fitted inside anyone as well as he fits in Danny. Fits in him, against him, beside him.  
  
And he’d been utterly fucking serious last night when he’d said he wanted to be always in that soft warmth that is Danny’s presence. But now he means this too. This heat, this pressure, the force of it, the momentum between them. There’s always movement between them, even when they’re perfectly still. He’s known that from the beginning, but he understands it now.  
  
He’s close, so close, and he needs Danny with him. Eyes lock, and knowing flows between them. There’s a smirk, one last thrust, a shaky grab, two muffled shouts, and _bliss_. Utter floating heady bliss.  
  
And then, because they’re still them. Still totally, absolutely them. There’s laughter. Breathless, relieved laughter. And then kissing. And touching, as though they’ve suddenly at last realized what they’ve done, what it means.  
  
Slowly they climb down from it. Regain lost breath. Minds swirl and find anchor. Bodies settle, mess ignored, not important enough to separate even for one moment.

“You do realize, of course, that you’ll just have to do it all over again on actual Christmas.”

“I will happily do all of that every day of the year, Daniel.”

Danny swats at him, but he’s still boneless so it has zero impact. “Not what I meant and you know it. I mean Christmas. With the team.”

Steve hmmms against Danny’s skin. “Buddy, you’re missing the whole point.”

“I am?”

“The only thing I’m doing on Christmas is you.”

“ _Steven_.”

“Mmm serious. No way we don’t get called out for a case. It’ll happen. And you’ll be exhausted, and I will too, and the only thing I want to do that night is come home, take a long hot shower, and curl up on the sofa with a bottle of wine and you.”

He knows, Danny sees his point. “Still, we can’t _not_ do something with the team....”

Steve sighs. Always with the others getting in the way of his time with Danny.... “We’ll all go surfing the next day or something, come back here for pizza, okay? But whatever time we get on Christmas itself. You. Me. Booze. Bed. That’s all I need. That’s all I want.”

Danny doesn’t object, but his mind’s started whirring, and that makes Steve just a little bit nervous.

“Hang on... are you telling me that all of this was actually about getting Christmas to ourselves?”

Steve’s pleased he worded it that way—themselves, rather than Steve wanting Danny all to himself, which is accurate, but somehow less... evenhanded. Danny’s right though. In a sense. Because, yes, it was about not having Christmas ruined by a case, but there was, he will admit, there was an underlying aspect that was about _this_. And, yes. Getting to be alone together on Christmas. _Alone together_ , Steve thinks, is his new favorite phrase.

“It didn’t start off that way, not really. I did want to do Christmas right. I wasn’t kidding that it’s been upsetting me, having those parties ruined by cases. But now, yes. It’s about this. Everything is about this. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, babe. It’s more than okay.”

“Really?”

He chuckles, his breath ticking Steve’s skin. “Yes, _dear_ , really.”

Steve loves having that thrown back at him, and he growls, pulling Danny in for a kiss which ends with a nip at his lip, evoking a whimper from Danny.

“Always with the teeth, Steven.”

“Mmmm,” Steve replies. “You love it.”

And Danny’s lack of reply is all Steve needs. Not that he even needed that. So much he just knows, can tell, from the set of Danny’s face, the look in his eyes. And he’d thought a lot of it had been inscrutable, but it wasn’t really. He knew, he’s known... it’s just taken them a while to get there. And if it was a little awkward in the getting, well, it’s no small thing, this. Of course it’s going to be a bit of uneasy stumbling forward and back and sideways too. But just like his unlimited capability of taking whatever Danny can throw at him, Steve thinks they can take all of it and then some. Because that’s what they do. It’s who they are. And that’s what matters.

“It really was a great party,” Steve mumbles, before kissing Danny again.

Danny hmmms his agreement against Steve’s lips. “The best, babe. The best.”


End file.
